


Black Soul

by ilovemygaydad



Category: Sander Sides, Sanders Sides, Thomas Sanders, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Dystopian, no pair
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2019-01-27 15:37:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12585068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilovemygaydad/pseuds/ilovemygaydad
Summary: The king has been overthrown.Warnings: blood, eventual gore, physical violence, swearing, lots of bad feelings





	1. Chapter 1

Logan’s plans had worked spectacularly. The king—former king, that is—was laying on the ground; his hands clutched at his wounded side. The crimson trails of blood that trickled through the royal’s fingers left only joy in Logan’s heart. **  
**

“Hope you enjoyed your last few moments of ruling,” he spat at the man on the stone floor. “Because  _I’m_  in control now.”

Roman let out a strained cough as he attempted to drag himself upright, but Logan was faster. A swift kick to the stomach left the royal incapacitated once more. A cold laugh rang through the throne room accompanied by the clicking of footsteps as Logan made his way to the throne.

“You know, Roman, I  _really_  thought it would be harder to overthrow you. I’ve studied you for years; I know your strength and skill. And yet here we are. All it took was one well-timed ‘lesson’ and a hidden dagger.”

“Go choke,” Roman growled, regaining enough of his confidence to spit out his thoughts.

“That is no way to treat your new ruler, Roman, dear!” The faux sweetness in Logan’s voice sent Ro’s stomach into a twist. “Remember, I’m in charge now. And right now, a dagger through the heart sounds like a really good option for you.”

A rough laugh erupted from the royal. “Perfect. Anything to get me out of this hell you’ll create.” He looked up just in time to catch the fury flash on Logan’s face.

“You listen to me, Roman. I will  _destroy_  you. Everything you loved will be gone at the snap of my fingers. No one is brave enough to go against my rule.” Logan paused for a moment, allowing him to make his way to the man on the ground.

“You have  _nothing_.”

Another harsh kick to the stomach set Roman into a fit of bloody coughs, deep red dripping onto the floor beneath his face.

“King Roman?” a palace worker called from outside the door.

“King Roman is no more,” Logan snarled as he crouched down, yanking the royal’s chin to face him. “All hail King Logan.”

* * *

Roman fell to a heap on the dungeon floor, landing in a dirty puddle. During his five year reign, the dungeons had never been used once. They were unethical, dirty, and just plain disgusting. In those five years, however, the dungeons had fallen into even greater dismay. Rats scurried across the floor, and grime covered every surface.

The sound of the heavy iron door clanging shut jerked the king out of his mind. Logan had put him down here. He’d loved Logan. He’d  _trusted_  him. And Logan just went ahead and betrayed him, throwing all of his hard work to the dogs.

Roman had spent years building his kingdom up to a great status. His people were happy; poverty rates were at an all time low. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that Logan would go and throw that all alway. He had nothing to be angry about, yet he’d gone ahead and overthrown his closest friend. The Logan he knew was gone.

“Alright, princess. Wipe off your dress so we can let the real fun begin.” A scraping sound suddenly echoed on the stone walls, causing Roman to scramble to the nearest wall. He pressed his back against the stone tiles, wishing he could just disappear into the backdrop.

For three hours, the only sounds coming from the dungeon were hoarse screams of a former monarch.

* * *

“Good afternoon, citizens of Corra,” King Logan announced on the television screen. Virgil couldn’t help but snort at the notion of there ever being a good day under Logan’s rule. His older brother, Patton, shushed him from his on the adjacent chair in their cramped living room.

Since Logan’s rise to power, the citizens were split into different levels determined by their wealth and jobs. Patton being a store clerk and Virgil being a mechanic meant practically bare-bones housing. It wasn’t just all they could afford; that was all they were allowed.

And with them fitting in as Sevens, the second lowest class, their apartment was also fitted with constant video and sound recording so the government could monitor for any hint of rebellion. Patton and Virgil constantly needed to watch their tongues for fear of being arrested and, even worse, separated.

The king continued to tell the daily news. “Today a rebellion in the Northern Sect was brought to an end. Level eight citizens Joan and Talyn Gardner were behind the attack, and both treasonous monsters met their ultimate demises.”

Patton discreetly squeezed Virgil’s hand as both silently mourned for their friends. Joan and Talyn were very active in the rebellion and were constantly willing to die for the cause. They were still taken far too soon.

And who knew if they actually were dead. They might have been captured by the monarchy and were currently being tortured for information. Both Patton and Verge knew how strong their friends were, and they would never tell a soul the rebellion’s plans, but that gave them no comfort. The Gardners would be dead by the end of the month.

The broadcast shut off after ten more minutes of propaganda and brainwashing garbage, and silence once more filled the apartment. The brothers sat for a few moments before simultaneously standing up. They walked in a robotic path to their respective bedrooms to get ready for a night of restless sleep.

* * *

It had been four months since Roman had been thrown in the dungeon. At least, that’s what he’d gathered from far away whispers of other prisoners. The kingdom had fallen into strict order, forcing the poor to the slums and the rich to the mansions.

Under Roman’s gentle hand, house sizes had been kept regulated to prevent differnces between any class, and the old apartment complexes had been deserted as actually livable spaces were built. The tenement houses were shoddy and disease ridden; there was no way they were suitable for humans to inhabit.

Yet his previous legislatures had been repealed by the new “king” to enforce his Levels. Crime and poverty rates had risen tremendously during the short months after Logan’s rise to power, and most of the prisoners ended up being the poorer citizens: those who were being horribly treated and had tried to fight for their rights.

Of course, those rights no longer existed. There was one say in the law, and it was the king.

“Roman, are you up for another chat?” Logan’s voice swirled around him in a harsh echo as the door was scraped open and the wooden chair was dragged in. Logan was wearing a tool belt full of the torture devices he’d found worked best on the former monarch. A blade dipped in harsh chemicals used for maintenance, a small knife that was perfect for cutting thin slices of skin off, and even a small, sharp rod that, if inserted into the leg  _just_  right, would feel as if you ripped the whole muscle.

A small whimper escaped from Roman’s lips. The strong, fearless king was no more; all that was left in his place was the hollow shell of a once-great man.

“Well, well. Along with the diadem went your confidence, hasn’t it? I am astounded, Roman. A man of your stature shouldn’t be able to break so easily. I am quite proud of myself.” A dark chuckle rang in Roman’s ears. He clawed at his head, wishing the barely human sound out of his head. It pounded at his skull and tore away any confidence he might have had left.

“Look at me,” Logan commanded, yanking the broken man’s face to his own. Roman fought to keep his gaze away until a sharp stinging erupted from his side. He snapped his eyes towards Logan’s in a show of mock defiance. There was none left in Roman, though he might as well put on a fancy act if he wanted to be free of this horror show.

“Go fuck yourself.” Roman’s voice was laced with anger he’d somehow dredged up from deep inside. The new monarch recoiled slightly from the shock of the insult before roughly shoving Ro against the stone wall behind him.

“Don’t  _ever_  say that to me again. Or I won’t be so nice,” Logan snarled.

A laugh almost bubbles out of Roman at the hysterical statement. “You’re never nice, Log—“

A fist sharply impacted Roman’s face. Trails of warm liquid ran down his cheek and fell in small droplets on his threadbare tunic.

The prisoner was thrown into the ground, his forehead slamming into the floor. The last thing Roman heard for three days was the loud clang of his cell door swinging shut.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: graphic depictions of violence, blood mentions, minor depictions of sexual/physical assault

“Virgil! Virgil, wake up” Patton shook his younger brother awake, excitedly waving a newspaper in his other hand.

“Pat, my alarm hasn’t even gone off yet. What do you want?” Virgil groaned as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Six am was barely an acceptable time to have to wake up, let alone before then.

“There are job openings in the palace! This could be our chance, Verge!”

Virgil scoffed at the ridiculous notion. “There’s no way we’d get those jobs even if we were qualified. Nobody under a five is allowed to step foot in the palace unless they have special permission from an employer.”

“Virgil, you didn’t let me finish,” Patton interjected. “They’re looking for engineers and cooks. And you have a degree in engineering, and I can cook!”

“We’d never make it past the application phase.” He didn’t want to be negative; it would really help the rebellion if they could get some people on the inside. There was just no way Patton and Virgil would be even considered.

“Well, why don’t we just try? There’s no harm in that.” Patton had his “dad voice” on, and nobody was able to refuse that.

“Ugh, fine! I’ll fill out an application after work. Just let me sleep for—“

The beeping of the alarm on his nightstand cut off his sentence. Virgil sighed and pressed the stop button. No more sleep for today.

* * *

 

The work day had been ridiculously stressful for Virgil. They’d had a random search due to the rebel attack the day prior. And, of course, since it was the lower Levels that we’re behind the rebellion, they were the ones getting searched.

Virgil didn’t even have anything incriminating on him, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t anxious. His involvement in the rebellion was a well kept secret, and he’d never actually carry any rebel messages to work. The police were always suspicious of him; his dark eyeshadow and purple hair screamed “criminal.” They were rough with him, pushing him around and gripping him tightly. Hands felt around his body as if he were some inanimate object without any feelings.

He was far ahead on his work after today, losing himself in the machine parts to try  and get rid of his thoughts.

_Hands. No! Grab. Pull. Touch. No!_

As soon as the evening work bell rang, Virgil rushed out of the garage. He sped down the streets as he walked to the apartment, not even stopping to see if any messages had been left behind the normal post. All he could think about was getting home.

Until he ran into a large force and fell to the ground, landing hard on his back.

“Where do you think you’re going so fast, Seven?” a tall man in a neat suit sneered. A Two.  _Fuck._

“I, uh… I’m…” Virgil stuttered. His mind was racing; his thoughts jumbled into a messed up form of alphabet soup.

“You should speak when you’re spoken to,  _Smock_. Maybe I need to teach you a lesson…” The man tugged at the collar of Virgil’s coveralls, pulling him to his feet. None of the other pedestrians even batted an eye. Verge felt his knees give way as he was forced into the nearest alley and shoved against the wall.

A fist collided with his stomach, causing Virgil to double over in pain. A knee drove up into his face. The sickening crack of bone-on-bone contact echoed in the stone corridor. Virgil could feel the blood pouring out of his now broken nose. Once more, he was shoved back into the wall. The back of his skull gave off a loud crack on impact with the building. The Two was laughing. This was giving him joy.

What had their kingdom come to?

* * *

 

Patton sat worriedly by the door. Virgil should’ve been home twenty minutes ago. There was no way to find out where his little brother was without a cellphone, and luckily everyone below a Three had their phones confiscated last month to reduce plotting in the rebellion. It really showed the state of a government when they have to take away phones to stop a fucking rebellion against themselves.

Suddenly, the door swung open, and Virgil collapsed in a heap on the entryway floor.

“Oh dear! Virgil, are you alright? Is that  _blood?_ ” Patton’s voice became increasingly more panicked as he scanned over his brother. Blood was caked onto his gray coveralls and even in his hair. Dirt created a fine dusting all over his clothes and skin. Virgil looked like a train wreck.

The younger man slowly pushed himself to his hands and knees before collapsing again due to a fit of bloody coughs.

“Oh, gods. Okay. I’ll make sure you’re okay, Verge.” Pat scrambled to his feet and hurriedly pressed his hand against the Tech Plate on the wall. Although the tenement buildings were awful, they still had some modern technology.

“Med kit,” instructed Patton. A small white box slipped from a small slot beside the Plate. He slipped the kit into his trouser pocket and dragged Virgil to his bedroom, gently placing him on the bed.

It took four rolls of gauze and half of a roll of medical tape to fix all of the wounds, but Virgil was soon sound asleep with the help of a few sleep aids and painkillers.

Patton sighed and threw all of the wrappers into the garbage. He hadn’t been able to ask Virgil about what had happened, he was too busy trying to patch him up, and that worried the older man. Who had done this to him? And why? Virgil wasn’t the sort of person to try and invoke any violence unless absolutely necessary, and even then he was apprehensive.

He stared at the unfinished application he’d left on the table for Virgil. That certainly wasn’t going to be done today, so he might as well wait to put his own application in the mail for a few days.

Patton picked up the television remote and turned the TV on. Just in time for the news.

King Logan’s face flashed on screen and the broadcast began. “Good afternoon, citizens of Corra. Before we start with today’s news, it is important to remind all male Sevens that you must answer any questions a Two asks you immediately. They are your superiors, and you mustn’t disrupt our system. Any repercussions you might face are up to the Two, though they may not be so harsh as the death penalty. Thank you for your cooperation.”

A flash of anger bloomed in Patton’s chest, though he didn’t drop his smiling façade in front of the cameras. It was obvious that the message was aimed at Virgil to make it seem like his wounds were reasonable. It was like saying a child who didn’t do anything wrong deserved to be put in an indefinite time out. That doesn’t work. The King’s rules were wrong, that much was obvious, and it only made Patton more determined to stop him.

As soon as the news shut off for the night, Pat went to the table and filled out Virgil’s application. They were getting those jobs.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there aren't any new warnings that I can think of for this chapter!

The red light on the cameras finally flipped off. Logan leaned back in his desk chair slightly, glad he could drop the professional façade for a few moments. The camera crew began to quietly pack up, and Logan took his leave back to his bedroom.

Although the palace was lavishly furnished, Logan’s room was admittedly bland. Blue bedsheets and gray walls with plain steel furniture. It suited him.

The king walked into his en-suite bathroom and looked at his reflection in the mirror. With a quick blink, his eyes turned completely black. It was refreshing to not have to constantly be aware that he was playing a character. The real Logan has been screaming and clawing to get out for over a year now, but the demon wasn’t going to give him up.

A knock reverberated through the bedroom, tugging Aarel out of their thoughts. The black eyes were blinked away as the monarch made their way to the door. They practically threw it open and faced the staff member who had decided it would be a good time to disturb them.

* * *

 

The bright sunlight streaming through the blinds woke Virgil up with a start. The young man shot upright because holy  _shit_  it was light outside and that meant he was late. Then a heavy wave of nausea hit him like one of the giant prison trucks, forcing him to flop back onto the bed. Virgil reached up to his face and rubbed the crust from his eyes, though his fingers came back covered in dark red flakes.

Oh. The fight.

Verge groaned and slowly managed to roll out of his bed and walk to the kitchen. The overpowering smell of eggs nearly threw Virgil’s stomach again. Patton was sat at the table worrying at his shirt collar. He had never looked so upset in his life; not after their parents had died, not after they’d been forced to move into these shitty apartments, not even when the authorities had showed up at their doorstep to search their apartment for rebellion paraphernalia. Dark bags were under the older man’s eyes, making his normally pink cheeks look dull and gray.

“Pat?” Virgil’s voice was barely a whisper as he stared at the unnatural sight. His brother snapped his head up, and a relieved smile spread across his face.

“Oh thank goodness, Virgil. What happened yesterday? Why did a Two attack you? Are you--”

“I’m fine, Patton. I--” his voice cut off as a sudden sob ran through his body at the thought of the pain he’d been dealt. He’d stumbled home last night in a haze with blood dripping from nearly each appendage. The last thing he remembered was opening the front door and then… Blackness. But the pain was still fresh in his mind as he relived every moment of torture.

“Hey, kiddo. It’s okay. It’s all gonna be okay.” The older brother leapt out of his chair and encompassed Verge in a tight, comforting hug. Virgil’s sobs eventually quieted, replaced by soft sniffles.

When he’d fully calmed down, the pair sat in their respective chairs at the kitchen table to talk. “I just… Work was really stressful yesterday, so I was rushing home and not paying attention to where I was going. That, of course, lead me to running into someone on the street. Who just happened to be a Two. Because I’m just that lucky. Anyway, he knocked me to the ground when I ran into him; though, he was walking fairly fast in my direction as well, so he probably should’ve been paying attention as well. He asked me a question--I don’t even remember what it was anymore--and I wasn’t able to respond right away due to anxiety. And then he decided to, uh, ‘teach me a lesson’ and beat me up in an alley.”

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry,” Patton whispered. There wasn’t much else they could say on the matter due to the constant surveillance they had to undergo, but they both knew the dictatorship had gone too far. They needed to make a change.

“So where did you put that application?” Virgil’s eyes scanned the kitchen for any sign of the small stack of papers.

“I already mailed them in. We should be getting something back by tomorrow.” The younger man raised an eyebrow but asked no more questions. One thing at a time, right?

* * *

 

“He _what?_ ” Aarel boomed at the staff member in front of them.

The attendant flinched back. “He somehow escaped and then, uh, let out all the other prisoners. They’re long gone by now.”

The door had already slammed shut by the time the sentence had finished. Aarel’s plans had been going so well, but that damned royal had to go and screw everything up.

* * *

 

Roman had ran for hours before he finally stopped by a small river on the outskirts of the kingdom. It had been months since he’d been able to breathe fresh air, and it almost stung to inhale. Not to mention his lack of physical activity and nutrition had sorely hurt his athleticism. But he’d escaped and taken all of those prisoners with him.

It was quite funny, actually. None of his former subjects recognized him as he unlocked their cells and hurriedly told them to go. He’d seen a glimpse of himself in a puddle and understood why. His face looks hollow and tired, and his uniform had long since deteriorated into a T-shirt and white pants. No more of the regality he’d once had showed on him.

And as he ran from the palace, he realized his kingdom had fallen to shambles as well. Gone was the bright and beautiful place he loved so dearly, and left in its place was dreary streets and exhausted workers trudging to their tenement buildings. It was awful.

Roman sat on the edge of the river and allowed himself to drink and finally clean himself. He was covered in dirt and mysterious slime from the dungeon, which was only one layer of grossness.

Although he had no soap, Ro felt immediately better. He still hadn’t been able to regain his fully regal appearance, but he was at least mildly recognizable as Roman Maxwell, tenth king of Corra. After months of being tortured and held captive, he had lost his identity. But now he had that back. And he felt stronger, somehow. It was as if this tiny change in his appearance transformed him back into what he once was.

A few more minutes of blissful rest followed, but soon the sound of helicopter blades slicing through the air echoed in the forest. Roman had anticipated this, but hadn’t yet prepared. He knew all of the palace’s equipment by heart; it just depended on which issue of helicopter they were using. The older ones had cameras, which meant he could easily just hide in a nearby bush, but the new ones had infrared sensors, so he’d have to jump in the river and stay underwater until they passed.

He decided on the second option; they’d still have trouble spotting him in the water. Roman jumped into the river and submerged himself. It was moments like these he was infinitely grateful for all those months of training he’d endured to build up his lung capacity. After a solid two minutes of not breathing, Roman resurfaced to gain an update on the helicopters. Silence.

Thank the gods.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New warnings: claustrophobia, demonic possession

A chronological list of each section of the story can be found [here](https://imgur.com/a/ejUsI).

* * *

 

 _**Fifteen Months Ago** _ **  
**

“Roman? Are you ready for—”

“En garde!” the King shouted as he swung out a fencing lance. Logan shook his head and regained his composure.

“Roman, you are almost nineteen. You shouldn’t be acting so foolishly at your age; it reflects poorly on your leadership,” the advisor reprimanded with a contemptuous look. The young monarch only grinned more.

“Oh, Logan! You need to learn to have more fun. Don’t you remember what Patton used to say? ‘There’s always time for fun as long as you don’t hurt yourself or others!’ And I’m not hurting anyone, am I?” Roman laughed and poked Logan with his lance. The only reaction he gained was a raised eyebrow and a glimmer of irritation in Logan’s deep brown eyes.

“Your majesty, please release some of this childish energy before we begin our lesson. There is much you must learn about the history of marital laws in Corra before you can completely overhaul the existing legislature to make it as inclusive as you wish.” Logan turned on his heel and walked out of the study, not wanting to have to deal with a rambunctious Roman for any longer.

As he made his way down the hall, he began to smell… something. He was near the kitchen, so it may be some sort of rotten food, but it was so strong that he found it necessary to at least make sure. Logan turned down a mess of hallways until he found a the place where the smell seemed to be coming from. It was a room far from the main part of the castle, and the smell had grown to an almost intolerable amount.

The advisor pushed open the heavy wooden door and was met with a wall of black smoke. And then… he was trapped. Not just trapped inside of the room, no; he was trapped inside of himself, though he didn’t quite know it yet. The room Logan was in—at least, it seemed like a room—was just like his bedroom. Well, not exactly like his bedroom, but pretty dang close.

The blue bedspread, gray walls, and plain furniture were all the same, but the door was gone and there was a giant screen on the wall where the window should be. Hands appeared on the screen, turning over as if he were getting a first person view of someone inspecting their hands.

Wait… No, that couldn’t be… Those couldn’t be Logan’s hands. That was impossible. But there was Logan’s black ring clearly visible on the right middle finger.

A booming laugh suddenly echoed in the small room, causing Logan to clamp his hands over his ears in a poor attempt to block out the horrible noise. “Oh my, how I have missed existence on the corporeal plane. It’s been, what, four thousand years?”

That was his voice. He hadn’t said anything! That wasn’t him.

“What is happening? This is completely illogical; there is absolutely no way this can be happening!” Logan began to panic. There was no way to explain his predicament; it couldn’t possibly exist. He threw himself at the walls, scratching desperately and screaming for escape. The laughs only grew louder.

“Pathetic. Truly pathetic. I’ve been observing you for days; I though a person of your intelligence would be able to act rationally. I should have know better. You stupid humans never seem to live up to expectations.”

_No! No, no, no…_

“Let me out! No, no, no…” Logan clawed and pounded at the wall until crimson red blood ran down his hands and the wall. The advisor sunk to his knees; tears staining his blotchy face.

“You vessels are so annoying. Can’t you just come to terms with the fact you’re possessed and shut up? I’ve even created a comfy room for you in your mind!”

“In… my mind?” Logan’s voice was barely a whisper and hoarse from his screaming.

“Of course, you imbecile! You’ve been possessed by yours truly, a demon, and I am now going to pose as you and take over this flourishing kingdom. I feed off of human suffering, so turning this kingdom to dust will be a plentiful harvest.”

_Fuck… No, no, no, no—_

A familiar voice entered the room. “Logan? Oh, there you are! I was trying to find you for the lesson, but you weren’t in your room.” Roman paused for a second. “Why  _are_  you over here, Lo? We rarely ever use this part of the palace for anything but storage.”

“I apologize,” the demon said, using  _Logan’s_  voice. “I was simply roaming the palace to regain my composure; I did not wish to alarm you. Now, shall we start the lesson?”

Logan was no longer in control.

 

* * *

 

 

**_Present Day_ **

“You can’t  _find_  him?” Aarel roared. Their fleet of pilots shrank back at the outburst.

“Sir, we searched the entirety of the kingdom by air and found nothing—not even the other prisoners. They all have either fled the area or Roman taught them how to hide successfully,” one of the pilots finally squeaked. It was true; they had searched everywhere they could for almost twenty-four hours and found absolutely nothing.

“Agh! This is the last thing I needed. All of you go out again!” The demon paused before taking a few menacing steps forward and dropping their voice to a deep whisper. “And don't you  _dare_  come back empty handed.”

With one swift motion, Aarel turned and left the room. The door slammed shut behind them. The prince would be found regardless of if they had to kill every one of the citizens to do so.

 

* * *

 

 

Roman made it back to the slums of the kingdom in only a few hours, but the physical exertion he’d endured was beginning to weigh him down. It was night again; he’d spent the past day trying to find some food, though he had found none. And now, on the outskirts of the city, the former monarch could be found doing the most elegant thing one could imagine: digging through a dumpster for anything he could use to disguise himself.

Eventually, Roman found a pair of scissors, some purple hair dye, and an old pair of coveralls that were in almost perfect condition. He chopped messily at his hair, going for anything that would  look different from what he had now and wasn’t his usually neat style. From what he could see in his dim reflection in a broken window, Roman concluded he had done a fairly good job at absolutely messing up his hair. After picking up a handful of mud from the side of the alley, the royal smeared black through his now-purple hair and onto his face.

Another check of his reflection solidified his feelings; he looked almost nothing like himself anymore. And with the coveralls? Roman was just a normal worker. This was definitely a suitable disguise.

As soon as the sun rose, Roman’s plan would start to unfold.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for homophobia in the chapter

Roman sat on the steps to one of the tenement buildings, watching as each worker passed by. He was searching for two familiar faces that he hoped would be somewhere in this mass of people. Now that he thought about it, several years had passed since they’d been able to meet. A king’s life was so busy; it was difficult to maintain childhood relationships. **  
**

“Hey, faggot! Get out of the fucking way!” A worker had stepped up to Roman while he was lost in his thoughts.

“I—What?” the royal stuttered. Nobody had ever talked so disrespectfully towards him; the blatant use of a slur disarming his usually collected persona.

“You heard me. Fags like you need to learn your place.” The worker took another step forward, his large frame looming over the slight king.

“Excuse you, sir,” another voice, this one more kind, interjected. Roman caught a flash of a blue polo before the newcomer continued. “You don’t even know him.  _Ray_ , come on. It’s time for work.”

A hand reached around the hulking worker, and Roman gratefully took it, pulling himself out of this situation. As soon as he caught another glimpse of the stranger, he realized.

“Patton? Oh my goodness, thank you for saving me there. I didn’t think you’d recognize me after all of these years and, well…” Roman gestured to his new ensemble.

“Of course I’d recognize you, kiddo! You’re like a little brother to me. Speaking of, where did Virgil go?” A quick scan of the crowd was all that was necessary to find the deep brown hair and pale face of Virgil.

“Verge! Over here,” the king called, waving a hand in the air as a beacon. A shocked expression flashed on the other man’s face as recognition of who Roman clicked in his mind.

“I thought you were dead! What the hell, dude! You don’t contact for  _years_ , and you just  _now_  decide to show up again?” Virgil’s face was flushed with anger. His hands were balled up in shaking fists, and he looked as if he were about to burst out in tears.

Roman held his hands out as a means of trying to defuse the situation. “Yes; I was an asshole. And I’m not even going to try and tell you an excuse for my actions, but I’m back now, and I don’t plan on leaving again. Please, just forgive me.”

Virgil hesitated for a moment before letting out a begrudging “yeah.”

“I hate to break up this reunion,” Patton said with a large, though slightly fake, grin. “But we’ve got to get to work. Come on, guys.”

The older man led his two companions two blocks down the street, then into an alley, which in turn took them to a fence that they hopped. The trio didn’t stop their journey until the loud clunking from the factories was a distant hum.

“Roman, how did you get here? More importantly, what happened? I know Logan— _we_  know Logan. This isn’t like him at all!” Patton was talking at a million miles an hour; his speech was progressively getting higher pitched as he scrambled through his thoughts.

“Woah, Pat. Calm down. I’ll tell you everything you know, and you’ll tell me everything that’s been happening. All I’ve caught are bits and pieces of stories that don’t completely add up. And what Logan’s said during his fun little torture sessions, but I can’t really know if those are true.” Roman began to spout off his story, interjecting every so often with little things he’d heard in the dungeon.

By the end, Patton was bawling. He was completely distressed by the terrible things Roman was forced to endure over the months he’d been in captivity. Virgil, on the other hand, seemed to have entered some sort of dissociative state; the young man was staring off into the distance with a blank look on his face. Patton gently ran his fingers through his little brother’s hair as he began to tell his tale, pulling Virgil close to provide some sort of comfort.

Virgil was still completely unresponsive when Patton finished talking. It was quite worrying how long it had been going on; almost an hour had passed since Pat had first noticed. Sure, Virgil had dissociative spells every once in awhile, but never this bad.

“Hey, sweetheart? You still there?” Patton whispered, still stroking Verge’s hair. The younger brother thankfully blinked a few times before sitting back up, as if he’d come out of a trance.

“How… m-much… time?” Virgil sputtered out, far too shaken to form full sentences. He raised a shaky hand to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“About an hour,” Roman answered, throwing Patton a concerned look.

“Sh… Sh…  _Fuck_ …” Just seeing the amount of effort it was taking Verge to try and force out his words made Roman want to throw up.

“Hey, kiddo. Just take it easy. You’re okay. I’m here. You can feel me, right? I’ve got you.” Patton’s voice was gentle and coaxing as he comforted his brother. Slowly but surely, Virgil leaned into the touch Pat was providing; the gentle hair combing and back rubs brought back the childhood comfort they’d had when their parents were alive. It was familiar and most importantly  _grounding_.

While Virgil was recovering, Patton and Roman discussed in hushed voices their plans to find out what the hell was going on with Logan and to end this nightmarish rule once and for all. It was quite intricate; a single step out of place could end up with all three of them being killed.

First, they needed a way in. Virgil and Patton were, luckily, well on their way to being hired in the palace. Virgil was a  _genius_ , and that wasn’t even even scraping the surface. By 14, he’d been accepted into engineering school with a 5.0 weighted GPA. Then, by 17, he’d graduated college at the top of his class. There wasn’t a thing that kid couldn’t do. And, although Patton wasn’t nearly as smart as his younger brother, he’d spent most of his teenage years learning to cook good meals for Verge. After their parents had died, Pat dropped out of school to be able to care for a terrified Virgil. The king and queen had offered to pay for both of them to live at the palace, but Patton was determined to make it on his own. And thus his cooking skills had flourished.

After they got their jobs, Roman would have to rely on rebels for food and shelter. They couldn’t know who he was, of course. That could spell disaster for the whole plan.

Once Virgil and Patton gathered as much evidence as they could, they’d reconvene with Roman to formulate a second plan. And then? The current monarchy would fall.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEW WARNINGS: mentions of corpses, minor character deaths, implied child prostitution, implied sexual activity
> 
> Please read at your own discretion if any of this makes you uncomfortable!

Virgil skidded out of the ten-year-old prince’s playroom as soon as he heard the commotion outside. Mom and Dad we’re supposed to be back soon; their lunch with the King and Queen only supposed to last a few hours.

The eight year old pushed his dark brown bangs out of his eyes, and that’s when he saw the bodies. Guards were shouting, carrying the bloody corpses of his parents as they tried to run to the infirmary. He heard a scream. It took him a few moments to realize it was coming from his own mouth.

Warm arms wrapped around him, picking up his small body and carrying away. He flailed his arms and legs, trying anything and everything to get out.

“Virgil, it’s me, Roman. We’re gonna get you to Patton; he’s just over in the library with Logan.” The prince’s voice was soft and calm. Harsh sobs escaped Virgil and made it difficult to hold on to Roman.

Soon, he smelled the earthy smell of books and heard Patton gasp. “What happened? Is he hurt? Roman, why are you grimacing?”

“I—Your parents… They… Your parents are dead. I think it was the spies Mom and Dad we’re talking about,” Roman’s voice was solemn. Spies? Virgil had read that spies were cool; spies were supposed to fight the bad guys. Mom and Dad weren’t bad guys!

“Patton,” Logan whispered, bringing a tiny bit of focus to himself. “Would you and Virgil like to stay with my family for the next few days as you recuperate?”

“I… I don’t know.” Patton spoke so softly it could barely be heard. His entire world had shattered in an instant. He’d lost basically everything. All he had now was Virgil. He had to look out for his little brother.

The door swung open and another voice entered the conversation. Patton snapped his head over and saw a guard standing in the doorway. “Your highness. I regret to inform you that Mal and Taryn Oscar, as well as Charlie and Kathryn Williams, have been killed in an attack from Eria. You mother had also been gravely injured. It would be in your best interest to visit her just in case.”

Logan made a sort of choked sound when he heard his parents’ names were said. That couldn’t be right. They couldn’t be gone. They were all going to go out tonight for his sixteenth birthday. It was going to be a good afternoon. His family was still going to be together. Everything was exactly the same as it was.

It was going to be fine.

* * *

 

Roman sprinted to the infirmary. Logan had taken Patton and Virgil to a guest room to take care of them while they grieved. Although Patton was already fourteen, he was far more emotional than most and needed a lot of comfort when he got upset.

The prince skidded to a harsh stop when he reached the infirmary doors, pushing them open as fast as he could. It was chaos inside; nurses and doctors ran around tending to the queen, trying anything and everything to make her better.

Roman twisted between the moving bodies and collapsed at his mother’s side.  Her face was starkly pale against the deep red of her blood-splattered gown. Her caramel hair that had so wonderfully matched her son’s was dull and in tangled snares; it no longer represented the utter beauty that the queen once held. She looked like a ghostly version of herself.

“Mom! Mom, what happened? You’re going to be okay, right? You won’t leave me?” Roman’s voice was thick with tears. The queen slowly opened her eyes, gazing lovingly at her son. Each moment that passed brought more illness to her complexion.

“I love you, Roman. Never forget that.” His mother’s eyes closed again, and suddenly doctors and nurses were dragging Roman away. He kicked and screamed and fought; he needed to be with his mom. He needed his mother!

At 3:48 in the afternoon, not ten minutes later, Queen Ember was pronounced dead.

* * *

 

Patton threw up as soon as he was in the next alley over. Ever since the accident, he’d had to resort to rather… unpleasant work. It made him feel disgusting and dirty and a myriad of other feelings that were anything but pleasant. But he needed to provide for Virgil, so he’d do anything necessary to make sure they had what they needed. If that meant giving himself up to strangers to be able to cover rent for their apartment, then that’s the way it had to be.

The teen wiped the bile from his lips and leaned roughly against the brick wall of the alley. It didn’t have to be this way, he knew it didn’t, but Patton couldn’t bear to take help from what had taken everything from him in the first place. Roman had offered so many times to let him and Virgil stay in the palace; they wouldn’t have to worry about clothes or food. And each offer was refused.

It wasn’t Roman’s fault Mom and Dad had been taken—not directly, at least. It was the monarchy as a whole; the unwillingness of the king to make peace with other kingdoms came at the price of two sets of parents and his own wife. The king now ruled with more anger than before, forcing his citizens into wars that didn’t need to be fought. Just the thought of Patton getting some sort of backwards “compensation” from the body that had destroyed his life made him cringe.

Even though each offer for help was refused, Roman sent hundreds of dollars each month to their apartment. Patton always ended giving the money to kids on the streets that the monarchy had also left for dust. He wasn’t taking their assistance, and that was final. It would help, sure, and take Patton out of this shithole of a situation, but it was against his morals to take it.

A fresh wave of nausea rolled through his too-small body, forcing even more of his meager lunch up. Fifteen minutes later, Patton was walking into his job at the grocery store with a bright smile on his face.

* * *

 

Virgil cried a lot nowadays. He cried when he woke up, during recess, as he was going to sleep. He missed mommy and daddy a lot and wanted them back. Patton said they weren’t able to be with them anymore, but he still missed them.

“Virgil?” Miss Angler softly called, pulling the child out of his doodles. “It’s time for lunch. Are you going to go out?” Verge shook his head. He wasn’t hungry anyway; he might as well work on homework. His teacher solemnly nodded before leaving Virgil alone.

The problems in front of him weren’t difficult, but he didn’t want to feel like a show off by asking to be moved up another grade. He’d already moved up twice; he would be even more advanced than Roman. Virgil sighed and moved on to the next sheet.

He wasn’t as happy as he was before. Neither was Patton. His older brother had been spending a lot of time out of the house and would come back really sick looking a lot. Virgil always asked if he was okay; he didn’t want his older brother to feel bad about anything. Patton always just smiled and gave him a light pat on his head before starting dinner. He didn’t push, of course, because Pat was a big kid and he didn’t deserve his feelings to be hurt by a little kid.

Kids started to filter back into the classroom as the lunch period ended. They laughed and screamed and ran about, still riding off the high of recess. In the back corner of the room, Virgil shrank into his big hoodie and pulled his hood up far over his face, hiding away from reality.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Present Day** _ **  
**

“Virgil! We got the interview!” Patton yelled as he sprinted through the door, skidding to a stop in front of the kitchen table.

“Woah! Calm down, Pat. You’re going to give yourself a heart attack,” Virgil chided.

“But Virgil! This could really change our lives for the better!”

_Translation: We’re one step closer to taking down the king!_

“I know, Pat,” Verge sighed, running his hand through his dark brown hair. “We might not even get the job; don’t get your hopes up yet.”

_Translation: There might be far more talented people who applied. Just be ready to make up a Plan B._

“It’ll be fine. I have faith in us.”

Virgil nodded and went back to his writing. “Right. So when’s the interview?”

“Tomorrow.”

 

* * *

 

 

Virgil had been forced to wear his best clothes to the interview by Patton. Admittedly, they were just his least battered purple flannel and the only pair of black skinny jeans he owned that didn’t have holes in them, but it was far more fancy (and fucking  _restrictive_ ) than his coveralls, which would’ve perfectly sufficed. But  _no_ ; he had to look “nice” and “professional” because he was a “serious engineer.”

Patton didn’t even dress up! He wore his work uniform: blue polo, gray cardigan, and khaki pants. Perks of working at a supermarket, Virgil supposed, we’re having normal clothes for a uniform.

To be completely honest, Verge didn’t really want to be here. He awkwardly shifted in the hard chair set outside one of the palace’s job offices, tugging anxiously at his soft collar. Other applicants sat in the hall with him, all in far nicer clothes, obviously vying for the same job as he was. They looked older, too; harsh wrinkles lined their faces, exposing their age and experience.

The eighteen year old shifted once more. Patton, of  _course_ , had been taken to an entirely different part of the palace for his interview, so now Virgil was sitting. Alone. In a palace. That just so happened to be run by an evil dictator. Who also used to be their close friend. And could literally kill them if they said one thing wrong. Virgil was  _totally fine_.

“Virgil Oscar, it is time for your interview,” a secretary called from the room closest to him. Virgil practically launched himself from his chair, glad to be out of the stifling silence in the hall, and made his way into the office. It was all dark wood and elegance, matching perfectly with the rest of the palace’s aesthetic. Each room was exactly what he remembered from the last time he’d been in the palace ten years ago.

“Please, sit. Mr. Deres will be with you shortly; he is finishing up some notes in the next room over.” The secretary slipped out the door; her heels clicked on the stone floor as she walked further away.

Virgil’s brief moment of relief was washed away in an instant. He had never been very good with social interaction, and instances like interviews were even worse than average. Being grilled about his skills and personal life was unpleasant at best, and that’s exactly what he’d be undergoing for the next however long. Not to mention he was going to have to lie about certain things like the rebellion and his "loyalty" to Logan’s rule.

The door creaked open, and Virgil suppressed the urge to turn and watch whomever had entered. A tall man in a deep black suit soon entered his periphery, taking a moment to set some files on a nearby shelf before finally sitting at his desk opposite Virgil. He flashed a dazzling smile before beginning the interrogation.

“Virgil Oscar, right?” The man—whose name Virgil couldn’t remember—leafed through a tiny pile of papers in front of him, presumably Verge’s application.

“Yes, sir.” Virgil’s voice was all mock calm; internally he was absolutely terrified.

“And you are eighteen years old?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why do you want this job as an engineer for the king?” Virgil stiffened ever so slightly. A lie. What was he supposed to say?

“Well, I have highly respected degrees in both mechanical and chemical engineering. I currently work as a mechanic at a factory, and I feel as if my potential is being wasted on menial labor when I could be making great things for my kingdom.” Virgil couldn’t believe the straight garbage that was flowing out of his mouth. Where the hell was that coming from?

“You say you have university degrees, and yet you’re only eighteen?” the man pushed, throwing a doubtful look at Verge.

“Yeah, uh… I skipped about four years of school and ended up finishing university a year earlier than expected. I could give you my professor’s address, if you would like to confirm—“

“That,” the man interrupted. “Will not be necessary. If you were to get this job, what would you be expecting as a salary?” The man’s blue eyes looked dark, searching for anything to dock his interviewee for.

“Just room and board. As long as I have that, I’ll be fine.” A sigh of relief nearly escaped Virgil’s lips as the man’s expression turned somewhat satisfactory.

“Would you be willing to work with the king for your job?”

 _Hell no._  “Of course. He is our king; it’d be an incredible honor.”

_Good thing I’m not Pinocchio, or my nose would be three feet long at this point._

“Very well. As I understand it, your brother is also having an interview, so you may go wait in that sector for him to finish. Here is a map so you can find your way.” The man stiffly handed Virgil a small wad of paper, which he took with a small nod.

“Thank you, sir.” As soon as Virgil was out of the room, a wave of calm hit him. It was over. He could leave soon and not have to think about this for a while.

Verge unfolded the map and was immediately confused. Nothing was marked or labeled; he didn’t even know where he was supposed to be on the map. He shrugged and blindly began to wander the halls in search of his brother. His eyes flicked between his surroundings to the pictures on the paper, trying to figure out where the hell he was.

A strong force suddenly ran into Virgil, knocking him to the ground.

“What are you doing in this part of the palace? Nobody is allowed to be here but me,” a deep voice inquired with a threatening tone hidden just beneath his words’ surface.

_Logan._

“I’m sorry, your majesty!” Virgil rushed as he scrambled to his feet and dipped into a bow. “I was looking for the other job office, but this map isn’t very helpful, and I guess I got off track. I really didn’t mean to intrude.”

_Fuck, Virgil! Calm down or you’re going to fuck yourself over faster than you can blink._

“Just get back to the main part of the castle.” Logan’s voice was a low growl as he snatched the map from Virgil and marked a few spots with a pen that seemingly came from nowhere. He handed the map back and left as soon as he’d arrived.

Virgil stood paralyzed with fear for a few moments before slowly raising the map and beginning his long walk back to Patton.

 

* * *

 

 

_**Official Recording - Interview of Patton Oscar** _

“You’re Patton Oscar?”

“Yes, sir!”

“And you’re twenty-four years old?”

“That’s right, sir!”

“What is your current occupation?”

“I work as an assistant manager at a supermarket, sir. Oh, and I volunteer at Ethel’s soup kitchen making food.”

“Why did you apply for this job?”

“I always enjoyed cooking, even as a little kid, but when my parents died, I was forced to cook for my brother and I. I learned to make cheap and often disgusting ingredients into something that tasted good, which evolved into a passion to make new things that were a bit outside of the box.”

“You said your parents died. How?”

_Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick._

“I’d rather not talk about that.”

“Alright. Final question. Ethel’s has been known to have a history with rebel meetings. Did you hear anything about those meetings?”

“Rebel meetings? I had no idea! I, personally, am quite happy with the separation of classes and all the other new changes the government has brought on; I’d never participate in rebellious activity. I’m here to support my government, not bring it down.”

“Thank you for your answers. The palace shall be getting back to you shortly.”

“Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Your majesty, our top choice for the engineer is Virgil Oscar,” an attendant said. He handed a picture to the monarch, who groaned when they saw the face staring back at them.

“You’re kidding. The idiot who got lost in the palace is going to have one of the most important jobs in the kingdom?” This was a joke! Aarel leaned back in their chair, hoping for some sort of punchline.

“He’s the most qualified of those who applied; he might even be the most qualified in the entire kingdom. At least give him a chance.”

Aarel rolled their eyes. “Fine. And the chef? We need someone desperately after most of the kitchen staff betrayed us.”

“Virgil’s older brother, Patton Oscar. He seemed ‘stupidly obedient and compliant to any and all orders.’ I’d say that’s a fairly good indication that he would be a solid fit for the job.”

“Well, send for them in the morning. They’ve got a lot of work to do.”


	8. Chapter 8

Patton groggily opened the door, combing his hair with his fingers to get it out of his face. Who was ringing their bell at four in the—

 _Oh_.

“Patton and Virgil Oscar?” A man in a dark suit and glasses stood in front of him. This couldn’t be good.

“Um, I’m Patton. Virgil is still asleep.” The man nodded and held out a bundle of clothes with two pairs of boots stacked on top.

“The king requests your assistance in the palace. Change into these clothes and gather any belongings you would like to have in your new sleeping areas. We leave in fifteen minutes.” Patton took the clothes and sprinted to Virgil’s room. He shook at the pile of blankets violently to try and wake the bear-like sleeper up.

“Virgil! We got the jobs! Now get up so we can go; you’ll need to pack anything you want to take with you in your duffel.” The shaking continued, forcing a groan out of the blanket monster.

“I’m up! Fucking hell, Patton, do you have no chill?” Virgil threw the covers off and sat up, rubbing at his eyes and yawning.

“Not when we have only fifteen—no, _thirteen minutes_ until we have to leave. And I need to shower. So go!” Patton rushed and flung the clothes at his brother, who was hit in the face with the soft fabrics. Virgil watched as Patton ran from the room in a mixture between frustration and admiration.

He unwrapped the bundle and found two sets of clothes: one with a pair of black slacks and a white button-up type shirt and the other a pair of black jeans with a matching black belt and a black short sleeved button up. He could only imagine which was meant for him. Virgil threw on his dark uniform and the accompanying black boots. A look in the mirror and… _Woah_. The face staring back was definitely _not_ Virgil Oscar. That was someone else entirely. That was not the dark, mysterious teenager with deep-lying emotional trauma; that was someone who had a change at a good life.

A shudder ran through Virgil. He shrugged it off and began to gather up his meager belongings: a locket that had been his mother’s, his old journals from school, his newer notebooks, a pen set, and his pajamas. There was no need to bring his coveralls; the palace was obviously going to be providing clothes for them. He absently registered Patton coming in to grab his uniform as he shoved his things into the black duffel from his closet. It had been a gift from Patton a long time ago and brought back little waves of happiness when he thought of the care his older brother put into the simple gift.

When Virgil arrived out in the living room, a hulking man was sitting on their couch, reading off some sort of tablet as he waited. Patton was nowhere to be seen, so he was probably still deciding what he did and didn’t want to bring along.

After what felt like an absolute _eternity_ , Patton stepped out into the hall. “Ready?”

“Yeah,” Virgil replied. He swung his bag over his shoulder and made his way to the front door. For a fraction of a second he contemplated taking his keys—would he _really_ need them at the palace. With a shrug, he grabbed them off their little hook and pocketed them.

In just fifteen short minutes, their plan had gone to action.

* * *

  
“These will be your sleeping quarters. You may pick which room will be whose. Patton, be at the kitchens promptly at four o’clock each morning. Today you will be expected at no later than seven. And Virgil, you will have an escort to take you to your office at seven thirty. Be ready.” Their escort left the brothers standing in front of the rooms, staring at each other. They might have bit off more than they could chew.

“Alright, well, let’s see what’s inside,” Patton said as he swung the nearest door open. The bedroom was small, but still much larger than their apartment’s. It had a twin bed pushed against the wall covered in plain white sheets. All of the furniture was old and battered, as if the retired pieces were sent here for the workers to use.

While Patton was investigating that room, Virgil went into the other. Saying the room was in disarray was an understatement. Furniture covered almost every inch of the space, almost all of it nearly or even fully broken. The bed, of you could even call it that, was a mattress on the floor covered in dark, ratty sheets.

“Hey, Patton?” he called, setting his bag down on the mattress.

“What’s up, kiddo?” Patton’s voice was dulled by the thick walls, resonating slightly as it bounced around.

“I’m going to take this room, okay?” Pat gave up so much for him; it was only fair that he would return the favor.

“Of course! Well, I’m going to go down to the kitchen and get myself acquainted with the other staff. See you later!” Patton’s footsteps clicked down the hallway, slowly growing quieter as he went farther away.

Virgil took his mom’s locket from his pocket and clicked it open and closed. The sound and feeling was calming, though he felt a pang in his chest as he remembered his mom. He looked so much like her; they had the same dark brown eyes with blue and gold flecks and matching dark hair, both with fair skin and slightly rosy cheeks. He’d always felt more connected with her, while Patton was like a mini version of their father. The reddish brown hair and caramel eyes with green flecks, a light splatter of freckles spread across the cheeks and nose with ever-blushed face. They even had the same stupid dad jokes.

They missed their parents _so much_. It had been ten years, sure, but that didn’t make it sting any less. Virgil opened the locket and looked at the pictures inside: the last school pictures they’d taken before the accident. On the left was Virgil as a tiny eight year old. His hair had somehow fallen over his face, though his signature half smile was visible. Patton was on the right, looking so grown up for only having been fourteen. He had a giant grin on his face, and his eyes were bright with happiness. It was rare to see Pat so happy nowadays, so Virgil relished every time he was able to see the shine in his eyes.

He snapped the locket closed once more and slipped it back into his pocket. He had well over an hour to kill; might as well tidy up the hellscape of his room.

Virgil started by picking up any of the broken pieces of wood and piling them in one corner of his room. One corner meaning the back half of the room. Anything that was salvageable was put in the front and set up like they should. All in all, he had a desk and a wobbly wooden chair as well as a dresser to put his belongings in. All of that mess accounted to _three_ pieces of furniture. He’d have to take a few storage bins and transfer the debris out just to have a full room.

A knock sounded at his door, bringing Virgil out of his thoughts. He swiftly opened it, and a short woman in a pink pencil skirt and matching blazer stood on the other side, staring at him with intent blue eyes. She made no motions to move, even after Virgil had raised her eyebrows at her.

“Uh… Hello?” His voice was questioning, not really sure what he should do in this situation.

“Hello. Follow me to your office,” the lady said. She turned on her heel and led Virgil down a maze of hallways. The way she moved was odd; her movements were stiff and choppy, lacking any fluidity that normally accompanied someone’s walk. It was almost as if she wasn’t used to human motion.

She stopped in front of a secluded door, far away from most of the palace. Virgil hesitated for a moment at the door. So much change for one day. _So much change._

He swung the door open and was terrified of what stood before him. Torture devices of all shapes, sizes, and uses were scattered about the room. In the far corner sat a desk full of various tools and computer devices. It was an evil mastermind’s dreamland.

Virgil was _way_ in over his head.

 


End file.
